


Painful Realizations

by pen_gt_sword



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursleys, Bullying, Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Legilimency, Occlumency, occlumecy lessons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 12:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15751290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pen_gt_sword/pseuds/pen_gt_sword
Summary: After Snape catches Harry viewing his worst memory, Snape goes through Harry's mind to prove he is as arrogant and cruel as James Potter.Both Harry and Severus realize that they had been harboring gross misconceptions for some time.





	Painful Realizations

**Author's Note:**

> You know the drill: The lovely Ms. Rowling owns the characters and the beautiful story from which this little fic was created. 
> 
> Constructive criticism appreciated and very well received :)

_“A hand closed tight around his upper arm. Closed with a pincerlike grip. Wincing, Harry looked around to see who had a hold of him, and saw, with a thrill of horror, a fully grown, adult-sized Snape standing right beside him, white with rage._

_‘Having fun?’_

_Harry felt himself rising into the air. The summer’s day evaporated around him, he was floating upwards through_ icy _blackness, Snape’s hand still tight upon his upper arm. Then, with a swooping feeling as though he had turned head over heels in midair, his feet hit the stone floor of Snape’s dungeon, and he was standing again beside the Pensieve on Snape’s desk in the shadowy, present-day Potions master’s study.”_  

(Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Chapter 28: Snape’s Worst Memory)

 

* * *

 

Harry barely registered the numbness that was beginning to settle in the arm that forced his closeness to the apoplectic man whose skin turned impossibly white with rage. It was telling of his mind’s fractured state due to the enormity of what Harry had just witnessed that upon seeing the professor’s pale face, Harry wondered why his Uncle turned purple instead of pale upon anger? If Harry were to survey enough people, would he be able to have a rainbow of angry faces?

Unfortunately, what may have been a ground-breaking discovery in the realm of people and the colors they adopt while under duress, was cut short when Harry’s brain kick-started and his thoughts slammed into his consciousness like a stone wall. No— wait… those weren’t his thoughts. He did actually hit a stone wall, except it was a floor. Snape’s looming figure did little to quiet the thrum of Harry’s pulse rushing through his ears. He had seen his parents. He saw his beautiful mum, strong and brave and compassionate. She stood up for Snape even knowing that he was a snobby blood-purist. But why did she have to stand up for Snape again? Oh, yeah— the second wave of realization overtook Harry. His father, so similar to him in physical appearance was nothing like how he imagined him to be in personality. Everything James did to get attention, like ruffling his hair and showing off his reflexes with the snitch… Picking on an unassuming Snape for no reason other than for cheap entertainment…

Harry was disgusted. Frustrated. Hurt. Confused. Why had everyone told him how great his father was? Why had everyone told him what a brave, strong man with father had been? How could that be possible when at Harry’s own age, his father was an undeniably arrogant prick? Lily Evans even saw James for what he was. How did she ever end up marrying him? But wait, that’s not right. Harry’s sluggish mind had perked a red flag at one of the thoughts rushing through Harry’s mind. Ah yes! That's it; not everyone told Harry that his father was a great man. In fact, the only person Harry could ever remember saying a negative thing about his father was standing directly above him, shaking with rage and in the middle of a sentence that Harry hadn’t heard the beginning of. Life is full of funny ironies like this.

“…is funny? Proud of your old man, are you, Potter? Pick up a few tricks for yourself, did you, Potter!?” Snape hissed Harry’s name with such vitriol that Harry winced as though slapped.

“N-no, sir, I wouldn’t—“ Harry used his palms to scramble away from the irate Potions master, still on the unforgiving floor of the dungeon.

Snape pursued Potter until the boy’s shoulders reached the wall. Snape felt a vindictive pleasure to see Potter on the ground, voice quaking in fear. For once, Snape had the upper hand. “Oh, don’t play games with me! I, unlike all other adults in this castle, am not blinded by your little hero act!” Snape’s chest was heaving, his eyes wide and crazed, staring down at the boy who flinched minutely with every step closer that Snape took. “No, I know who you really are. I know you’re exactly like your scum father!”

Harry felt the beginnings of a retort in defense for his father, but it stuck in his throat at the realization that Snape was right about his father. He looked into his professor’s piercing eyes and tried again, his voice coming out strained and dejected. “I didn’t think it was funny, sir. I wouldn’t do what he did.”

This was the wrong thing to say, apparently. Snape’s eyes narrowed into slits, his wand held in shaking hand, now pointed at the vulnerable boy. “Weren’t you listening, boy! I am not tricked by your foolish act! I KNOW THE TRUTH! And you are a fool to think you could hide it from me!”

Snape looked unhinged. Mouth slightly open, heaving in the air that expanded his chest impossibly, his lanky hair mussed and shifting with each rise and fall of Snape’s body. Harry has less than a second to stumble for his wand before a “LEGILIMENS!” Through his head back against the wall, and his mind back in memory as Snape viciously tore through, looking for evidence to support his claim that Potter was every bit as narcissistic as his upstart Father.

 

***

 

Severus found himself standing on a grassy field. The sky was gray like a usual day in the UK, and a faded plastic playground was standing upon wood chips. Near thirty meters away was a one-story brick building with a set of double doors. Snape immediately recognized the building as a muggle elementary school. His eyes rolled in disgust. Unsurprisingly, Potter began tormenting when he was a child.

He turned to the subject of this memory and cocked his head slightly. Potter stood with his back against a chain-link fence, in the center of a semi-circle of about five other boys around the same age, perhaps eight or nine. It explains Potter’s incessant need for attention if he was granted it since he could crawl. A step closer to the boys, and Severus paused to observe what played out before him.

Potter was scrawny. This wasn’t helped by the gaudy clothes that hung off him; his shirt so large that the collar looped around his bony shoulder. The jeans were cuffed several times and held to the boy’s frame by a belt that circled him twice. His stance was defensive and defiant. His pointy chin jutted upwards with an unwavering attitude, but his flinty eyes that scanned for an opening between the boys surrounding him betrayed his anxiety. A large boy with thin blonde hair sneered at Potter and cracked his knuckles menacingly.

“He’s a freak!” The blonde boy announced to his jeering friends. “My mum said so!” His proud smirk grew wider as the other boys surrounding Potter laughed forcefully.

“Yes, well, Dudders, I wouldn’t believe everything your mum says. Why, just the other day I could’ve sworn she said you were her ‘handsome little Diddy-ums’” Harry spoke, effectively cutting off the cocky laughter of the other school-boys and making the blonde boy who must’ve been “Dudders” flush with embarrassment. “If your mum could think you’re handsome, Dudley, then I fear we can’t trust anything she says.”

A couple of Dudley’s gang snickered quietly and the blonde furiously attempted to regain control of the situation. He snarled, fumbling for any sort of rebuttal before settling into a cruel smirk. “You know what, guys?” He addressed the other boys with him. “I haven’t played a satisfying game of Harry Hunting in quite a while. What do ya say?” The boys all smiled at their leader’s command. As one boy lunged at the scrawny, black-haired boy, Harry dove past him through the opening in the semi-circle he created. Harry began sprinting towards the building, shoes pounding in the cold dirt as the sounds of jeering and heavy breathing followed.

Severus was forced to jog along to stay with the memory. As he caught up to the boys, he saw one reach out and grab the collar of Potter’s over-sized shirt. He yanked back and Potter was effectively choked. The forward momentum carried his legs while his head was forced to stay still, landing Potter hard on his back. Potter was pale and gasping for air, clutching at his ribs. Was he injured? He was sufficiently tinier than any of the boys chasing him, and therefore should’ve been much faster.

Once Dudley reached Potter, as he had fallen behind once the running began, he planted a swift kick to Potter’s side. This was seen as a signal to the other boys who were laughing and took their own turns of punishing Harry for losing the game.

 

***

 

The schoolyard dissolved into a plain kitchen with an eggshell coloring to all the appliances. Severus saw Petunia Evans for the first time in years, scowling and scrubbing furiously at an iron pan in the sink. Severus couldn’t restrain a gruesome smirk at her unfortunate aging. Her long neck and protruding jaw made the thin woman look eerily like a horse.

“I shouldn’t have to be doing this, boy!” Petunia’s scratchy and unyielding voice was thrown downwards and Severus circled her to see her target. A small boy, no older than four; skinny and unremarkable save for the tuft of unruly hair that adorned his head, was facing away from Severus towards the sink, observing his aunt wash the pan.

“If you burn the bacon, the pan will be more difficult to clean. So don’t burn it! It isn’t that complex of a task, honestly.” The horse-woman groused.

“Aunt Petunia? I- I’m confused.” The small boy’s voice quivered uncertainly and he stumbled over the large words, making a point to pronounce them as well as he could at his age. “If cooking breakfast is real easy, why does Dudley get to sleep in when I have to do the cookin’…” the boy innocently asked, tapering off his argument as he noticed his aunt tense and squeeze the sponge in her hand dangerously. She turned suddenly, so fast that the boy did not have time to flinch before his aunt’s soapy hand flew at his face, the impact on his cheek whipping the boy's face towards Severus.

Harry’s emerald eyes were wide and wet with tears as his hand flew up to grab his cheek to soothe the warmth of impact.

“YOU DARE INSIST THAT DUDLEY DO YOUR CHORES? YOU’RE A WORTHLESS, UNGRATEFUL FREAK! YOU COOK BREAKFAST AND CLEAN THE DISHES BECAUSE THAT IS THE LEAST YOU COULD DO TO REPAY YOUR UNCLE AND ME FOR OUR GENEROSITY IN HOUSING YOU WHILE AFTER YOU RUINED OUR LIVES BY SHOWING UP ON OUR DOORSTEP!” Petunia continued raving and spitting at the little boy, but Severus could no longer hear the words she yelled. The little boy in front of him was tense and seemed to be preparing for another strike. He wasn’t listening to the words being thrown at him, and his eyes emptied of emotion as he waited for a dismissal. His aunt finally left him after shoving the sponge at his chest with instructions to “finish the job”. Harry sighed, relieved at having avoided being hit again as he turned to the sink, stepping on a little stool to be able to reach down into the sink.  

 

***

 

Snape frantically crawled through memory after memory, desperate to find anything that supported what Severus once vehemently believed about the boy Harry Potter. The potions master tore through images of the boy being attacked by his whale of a cousin, being outside doing laborious chores for long hours in the sun, and happened upon one particularly disturbing memory that paralyzed Snape in morbid fascination.

A giant of a man, who Snape had learned from previous memories to be the boy’s Uncle Vernon, grabbed the boy’s hair in a tight hold and slammed him back against a wall. Potter cried out in pain as his forehead broke through drywall and hit a stud. Dursley yelled in frustration.

“You’ll be lucky if we ever let you attend school again boy! What is this? Being interrupted during my work day by social services? A teacher concerned about some bruises? Bullshit! Boys have bruises all the time! No, you complained about us, didn’t you, boy?” Dursley’s voice was quiet in its rage, piercing, and cold. Harry only whimpered in response as Vernon pulled him away from the wall and threw him to the center of the living room. The fat man continued his raving to the small boy beneath him. Harry laid there as his Uncle droned on about his uselessness. The man told Harry about how his parents were useless, too. Useless idiots who did nothing meaningful with their lives and killed themselves with booze.

Vernon aimed a powerful kick to the boy’s ribs, and Harry gasped in pain, clutching his side and rolling over. “You’re lucky I’m worn out from a long day, boy. I’m too tired to use the belt.” He watched as the boy on the carpet squeezed his eyes shut in pain. A grim satisfaction lit Dursley’s eyes at the subservience of Potter before him. “Go to your cupboard, you Freak, before I change my mind.” Harry took long seconds to stumble upright and make his way towards the hallway, aided in speed when he caught his uncle grab his belt clasp menacingly. He limped to a small doorway under the stairs, and Severus watched in horror as Potter crawled inside the small space and shut the door softly.

 

***

 

Severus, like Harry not so long, yet ages ago, was now reconciling memories of the person in front of him with what he had previously thought he knew. Harry Potter, the arrogant, self-centered, attention-seeking bully. Yet, Severus searched his mind looking specifically for moments of bullying. He never expected that the boy would be the victim, not the bully. He never thought that the boy could have been raised in an unloving household. He never thought that the boy was abused.

A soft groan halted Snape’s train of thought. Potter sat on the ground before him, leaning against the wall with his head pressed between his palms, undoubtedly nursing a horrendous headache. A flash of regret swam through Snape, acknowledging that the pain the boy was experiencing was due to his own mistreatment.

Harry could not see past the waves of pain that permeated his every thought. Where was he? The cold indicated stone beneath him, so the dungeons? He wouldn’t be in the dungeons unless he had potions class or— Occlumency! His memories returned to him in a punch that aggravated his aching head further. He looked into Snape’s pensieve.. He saw his parents. His father. The sudden urge to cry had little to do with the pain and much to do with the frustration and disappointment Harry felt when thinking of his dad. He wanted to leave. He wanted to go far away.

A vial was suddenly thrust into Harry’s hands, the unexpected contact causing Harry to flinch. A sigh split the air when, after a few moments, Harry had yet to drink the contents of the glass tube.

“It’s a headache draught, Potter.”

Harry frowned. His every limb yearned for relief from the pounding in his head, but doubt filtered into his mind. I just betrayed his privacy. _He would want revenge…_

“You fool. If I wanted to harm you I would have cursed you by now, instead of wasting valuable potions. Drink the draught, and leave my office immediately.”

Harry was met with relief soon after the disgusting taste washed down his throat. Harry lifted his head to meet Snape’s eyes. They both regarded each other cooly, both betrayed by the other viewing their memories and both with too much to contemplate about the other.

“Leave my office, Potter. You will return for Occlumency lessons next Monday, per usual.”

So, for now they were going to pretend like nothing ever happened, Harry surmised. He trudged out of the office, with a lot to consider. Snape watched Potter leave. He still didn’t like the boy, and he never would. But perhaps, he could admit that Potter’s life was not as pampered as he once believed. Severus flooed to the Headmaster’s office. He didn’t like the boy, but no child should have to live in such deplorable circumstances over the summer. Severus knew personally. 


End file.
